The Art of Madness
by Harley Wayne
Summary: Lost and confused, she woke up in a strange city. Not remembering anything, she has to find the answers to her past, and while she does, she will meet the Dark Knight, who seems to know something about her, a helpful Commissioner, and a psychotic killer with a permanent smile. She can't realize how strange things are going to get, and even stranger still when she meets Bruce Wayne.
1. Prologue

The Art of Madness:

Prologue

File Number 73-D

On December 12th of 1984, Venice Brahms witnessed her mother murdering her father on her tenth birthday. Her mother was recently diagnosed with schizophrenia, and thus attacked her husband. Mrs. Brahms was then taken into custody and admitted into Arkham Asylum and assigned Dr. Potts as her caretaker and psychiatrist.

Venice Brahms was sent to live with her grandmother who also lived in Gotham City, and was screened for any emotional or mental issues concerning the traumatic experience she saw. She was found healthy, although in the years following she would have violent fits, in which she would cause harm to herself or those surrounding her. She was given prescription medication to suppress these attacks in hopes of helping her live a normal life.

On December 12th of 1992, on her eighteenth birthday, her grandmother died of lung cancer connected with smoking. Left with no more family, she was assigned a guardian by the name of James Gordon, who was an officer at the Gotham City Police Department.

Venice Brahms became associated with Bruce Wayne of Wayne Enterprises, and they were known to have had a brief romantic involvement before Venice abruptly disappeared in the summer of 1994. A missing persons report was filed, but she was never found and was presumed dead.

Laura Carlton

Private Detective


	2. Amnesia

The Art of Madness

Chapter One

I don't remember anything. I can't. My mind is a slate that's been wiped clean. My name, where I am, what I've done in the past…Gone. Even my muscles seem to have forgotten with their stiff, marionette movements. I look up to make sure there's no man jerking at my strings.

I woke up in an abandoned building, and I've been out searching for help. It's already getting dark, and the moon is climbing in the sky, while I still haven't found anyone. I've passed numerous buildings, all of them empty and abandoned.

A nearby trashcan plummets to the ground, and I jump five feet into the air, my heart hammering out of my chest. A cat begins rummaging through it, and I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding, my tense shoulders relaxing. "Just a cat," I murmur, shaking my head and resuming my walk.

I catch my reflection in the glass of an old store, and I go closer to get a better look at myself. I touch my colorless cheeks, my green eyes popping out against my pale skin. Dark brown curls spill down past my shoulders, and if I didn't know any better, I'd say I'm dead. Just to be sure, I take my pulse at my wrist, only to find it going strong.

A lamp in the distance flickers, its light dimming every time. As I get closer to an alleyway, I begin to hear voices, both masculine and both unfamiliar, as with everything in this place. I lean my head over the corner to try to see them, but it's dark, and I'll have to wait for my eyes to adjust. In the meantime, I'll listen, even though there's a possibility I could get caught eavesdropping.

"-a high price for your head, Batfreak!" A man shouts, and then there's the heavy sound of impact against flesh, and he groans. Instinct tells me to leave, but my curiosity keeps me rooted in place, my eyes straining to make out any figures.

"Where is the chip?" A gruff, lower voice demands, and I frown in confusion. Chip?

"Like I'd tell you!" The first man says, laughing. He's abruptly silenced by another heavy sound of something hitting flesh. When my sight eventually adjusts, I see a taller man wearing some kind of costume, and a shorter, stockier one. The taller man raises his fist to deliver another punch, but I leap out into the alley.

"Stop!" I exclaim before my foot collides with a can, sending me sprawling to the ground. My hands shoot out, and they land amid the broken pieces of a beer bottle, the warm liquid of blood with a stinging pain filling my palms. I look up, and the taller man is frozen in place, his raised fist dropping to his side. The first man pushes him away and sprints to freedom, but he takes no notice. He can only seem to stare at me.

"Venice?" He murmurs, taking a step forward. I scoot backwards, swallowing nervously.

"I don't know who you're talking about," I say, shaking my head and rising to my feet, which I just noticed are bare. "Just leave me alone and forget I said anything. I don't want any trouble, mister." I back away, my hands throbbing.

"Don't go!" He exclaims suddenly, his arm outstretching toward me. I whirl around and dash back out onto the street, speeding down the sidewalk. "Venice!" I hear him yell, but there's no sound of his pursuit. I run for what seems like an eternity, and when I finally stop, my chest heaves, my heart pounding a mile a minute. I suppose I have more of the flight than fight instinct in me.

My mouth is dry, and I lick my chapped lips, continuing to pant. I don't know who that guy was, or what he was talking about, but I do know that I should stay away from dark alleyways for now on. I cough softly, leaning against a building and sliding to the ground, tucking my knees to my chest. I close my eyes and rest my head back, still breathing heavily. Once my heart returns to its normal pace, I welcome sleep with open arms.

**Bruce's P.O.V.**

"It had to be her, Alfred!" He exclaims, throwing his hands up as he paces. "Everything about her was the same, _everything _Alfred."

"I know you want to believe that, Bruce, but it was dark, and I'm sure there are plenty of girls who can strike a resemblance to her," the man named Alfred explains, cool and patient. "The only way we can know for sure is to scan that blood you collected."

"Hmph," Bruce mumbles, running a hand through his hair in anxiety. "The DNA test will only prove I'm right, and then I'll have to find her." He suddenly frowns, his face paling. "Alfred, what if she's beaten by some thugs and tossed into some dumpster? What if she gets lost and the police take her?" Alfred raises an eyebrow, and Bruce continues. "She didn't remember me, Alfred, and she seemed scared. I can only wonder what Gotham will do to her."

"I wonder if you remember how determined she was, Bruce. She'll do fine. In fact, I pity the poor fool that tries to pull something on her."

"But there's the matter of the data chip the Joker stole, and if he ends up decrypting the code, he'll know everything! I have to get it back, but I have to find Venice." Sitting in a chair, he drops his head in his hands, clearly stressed.

"I was thinking that you should lay low for a while and relax, Bruce," Alfred suggests quietly. "You've been working too hard, and it's beginning to affect your health."

"I can't, Alfred. You know that," he replies, his voice just as low.

"Bruce! Just for a day won't hurt you!" The whitening haired man protests, pleading with him. "Please, just for a day, relax."

Bruce finally gives in, and with a sigh he says, "Okay, Alfred. Just one day."

"And that day has to be tomorrow," he adds before the younger person could pull one of his loophole tricks.

He groans, but nods, rising and heading out of the office. "Good night, Alfred."

"Good night, Bruce."

**Her P.O.V.**

A giggle escapes the girl's lips, and I tilt my head in question. It's a dream, I know that for sure. She takes my hand, pulling me with her as she leads me through a garden towards a house. Small flowers grow on the sides of the pathways, and I stare at them as I go by, marveling in how realistic they appear.

When we reach the door, she looks up at me and puts a finger to lips. "Shh," she murmurs, her green eyes twinkling and her dark curls bouncing with every one of her movements. I nod, and she tightens her grip on my hand before opening the white door, daintily stepping inside. I follow slowly, looking back and then forwards, hearing the door shut eerily behind me. "This way," the little girl whispers, tugging me along again.

Pictures hang on the walls, their faces blurred, except for those of the little girl's. "Who are they?" I ask, but she merely glances at me with a smile before heading up the staircase. With every step, the stairs creak, and every time, she puts her finger to her lips. What could possibly be so important to cause us to have to be so quiet?

As we continue our ascent, music begins to play, faintly though, as if it is in the far distance. When we reach the top, I look down at the girl nervously, a sense of dread worming itself inside me. Seemingly able to feel my emotions, she gives my hand a little squeeze and begins to pull me towards the door at the end of the hallway. While it gets nearer, the hallway seems to narrow and claustrophobia sets my heart pounding faster.

"It's going to be all right," the little girl says, smiling again. Even though she's a child, I believe that she's speaking truth, although I still swallow when we finally reach the door. She looks up at me expectantly, hesitating.

"What is it?" I ask, worry setting in for the second time.

"I don't think you're ready," she says in her small voice, regarding me carefully.

"Ready? What do you mean, ready?" I mean to ask, but before my mouth can form the words, I wake up to the sensation of being shaken.

"Ah, she finally wakes up. You're quite a heavy sleeper, you know. I suppose you were deep in the dream world. A man once said that dreams are other people's memories." My eyes flit up the speaker, and the air dissipates in my lungs. "What? Do I have something on my face?" The lips speaking are red, and crimson paint goes beyond his mouth, curling up his cheeks.

"Who…who are you?" My voice is shaky with fear, and I'm afraid to keep looking at him, but I continue to stare into his eyes.

"Oh, I'll introduce myself later. There are more important things to take care of." His tone turns brisk, and he hauls me impatiently to my feet, shoving me into the arms of another man who then tosses me into a van. I yelp in pain as something digs into my side, and I quickly grasp at the object, pulling it out from under me and lifting it to my face. It's a piece of metal, seemingly unimportant, but I pocket it in secret, just in case, although why I'd do so is a mystery, even to myself.

At the moment, I feel like I've just been thrown into a pit full of venomous snakes, and for a second, the man's eyes blacken, but I suppose it's just my imagination playing tricks on my mind.

"Where are you taking me?" I ask, trying to keep my trembling voice steady in an effort to stay calm.

"You don't ask the questions around here," is his blunt answer. I open my mouth to respond, but I decide against it and clamp it shut. It wouldn't be hard to escape, now that I begin focusing on it. They didn't tie my hands or anything, and the door is right there. I keep my gaze from landing on it, so that the man sitting a few feet away from me doesn't catch drift of my idea.

He's near, so I'll be cutting it close when I execute my plan, or rather, my idea that just hatched less than five minutes ago. What's the word? Improvise? I'll have to improvise past my jumping out of the van, but that's the future, the present is what matters right now.

The man turns to look outside of one of the darkened windows, and I know now's my chance. With speed I never realized I possess, I lurch forward and grab the door handle, pulling it aside and leaping out onto the street. I'm lucky that no cars are on the lane, and I scramble to my feet before dashing onto the sidewalk. By this time, the man is already after me, and I can hear his footsteps on the pavement behind me. I pick up speed, but he keeps gaining, and I know that he'll soon be on me if I don't do something. In the corner of my eye, I spot a small trashcan, and it's within my range. As I sprint past it, I kick it with my foot, and it goes careening into the man's path. It'll slow him down, at least for a little while.

While my flight continues, the area is growing more populated. If I can only get lost between a crowd of people, I'll be safe. The light turns red, while people dressed in business suits begin to walk across the street, and I shove myself through them. "Sorry, pardon me! Excuse me!" I keep repeating as I part them like the Red Sea. My stamina begins to fade, but I force myself to keep moving. I am _not _going back to the van with that horrid man. The thought of his face gives me an extra boost, and I find myself in a busy area, with shoppers passing by, glancing at me as though I'm an alien wearing a rainbow colored wig.

I'm safe! I let out a sigh of relief and begin to walk a normal pace, going against the flow of people. A few of them step on my feet, but I take no notice, my spirits too elated for me to care. When I emerge out from the crowd, however, I see the van, along with more men. What does he want with me? Slipping into an alleyway, I hope they didn't see me, leaning against the wall and struggling to catch my breath. I look down to see a homeless person lying on a box, a few newspapers pulled over their body. Pity softens my features, and I wish I had something to give to them.

"They're everywhere," a voice says, and I have a mini heart attack, stumbling away. "A little jumpy, aren't you? It's okay, I'm not going to hurt you." The man approaches me, wearing a long black coat and horn rimmed glasses. "The name's James Gordon, I'm with the police department." He holds out a hand, and I shake it slowly.

I realize he's waiting for me to introduce myself, so I say quickly, "Alexandria Hamilton." There's not a clue in my mind as to where that name came from, but I'm just glad I didn't make too much of a pause.

"You look like you're in some trouble, young lady." His smile is warm, and I swallow.

"I guess you could say that," I answer, looking down at my bare feet sheepishly.

"I noticed you're a little worse for wear. You know, I think my wife has some clothes that'll fit you. It's almost time for dinner, and I don't think she'll mind a guest." I blink in surprise. He just met me, and now he's inviting me to dinner?

"I don't want to impose on your family, Mr. Gordon," I stammer, shaking my head.

"Don't worry, you won't be. Besides, I know a person who needs help when I see them."

"I...I don't..." I bite my lip and look over his shoulder.

"Miss Hamilton, I don't know who you're running from, but right now, I think it's in your best interest to come with me," he says in a low voice, and I frown. How does he know? He's right though.

"Okay," I reply finally, nodding. "Thanks."

"Don't mention it."


	3. Car Drive

The Art of Madness

Chapter Two

"So, tell me Alexandria, what were you running from?" James asks after we're blocks away.

"To tell you the truth…" I gaze out the window, biting my lip. "I don't know. A crazy man, I guess."

"A crazy man…" He glances at me briefly, an unspoken question in his eyes before he looks back.

"He had painted a smile on his face." At this, he appears alarmed.

"What did he do to you?"

"He kidnapped me, but I managed to escape." I shrug, plucking at a piece of string hanging off my shirt.

"Did he say anything?" It's starting to sound like an interrogation, and I grasp the piece of metal tightly in my hand.

"He said there were more important things to take care of." I remember the man in the alleyway. "When that man found me, I had fallen asleep. Before that, I saw another man wearing some kind of costume."

"You're not from Gotham, are you Miss?" He chuckles softly, shaking his head. "But even then, you should have heard of our very own hero, Batman."

"Batman?" I frown, troubled. "Hero? When I saw him, he was beating some guy in an alley."

"He was probably getting some answers from one of Joker's thugs. Lately, he's been questioning them quite frequently. He must be searching for something." He makes a left, and a series of apartment buildings stretch out in front of us. "We're almost there," he comments.

"Can I tell you something?" I ask carefully, my voice dropping to barely over a whisper, as if someone is listening.

"You can tell me anything. I hope you know that."

"I don't remember who I am or what I'm doing here," I mutter, licking my lips nervously. I examine my nails so I don't have to look at him.

"What do you mean?" The car stops at a light, and I feel his eyes trained on me.

"I…I don't remember anything at all."

"So your name isn't Alexandria Hamilton?"

"Yes…No…I don't know!" I know my hands up in exasperation. "I woke up yesterday in an abandoned building, and I wandered around for hours. I didn't know where I was, I didn't know anything. I ran into Batboy or whatever and he acted as if he knew me." A thought pops into my head. "Do you know his real name?"

"Who's? Batman's?" James seems confused, but I sense uneasiness. It's hard to detect, but it's there.

"Don't be stupid. Why do I get the feeling that you don't want to help me?" At this point, I'm desperate, and I reach over for the wheel and yank it to the side, sending the car swerving towards the sidewalk.

"Alexandria! What the hell do you think you're doing?" He yells, pushing me back before putting the car back on course. "What's wrong with you?"

"I want to know!" I snap, angry that he's holding information from me. "Why won't you help me?"

"Damn it, Alexandria, I have no idea what makes you think I know anything!" There it is again; the uneasiness.

"Don't lie to me," I say quietly, clenching my hands into fists.

"I'm going to help you, but that doesn't mean I'm going to betray the trust of a friend." So he does know.

"A friend? Did he threaten you into silence? What kind of friend could he be?"

"He saved my family, not that it's any of your business." I've obviously touched a nerve from the way he grips the steering wheel.

"If you know so much about him, why did he call me Venice?" I demand, but I immediately cover my mouth.

"What?" He pulls the car over abruptly, turning to face me. It must be now that he takes the time to study me. James' shoulders sag, and he mumbles, "Good God. He must have thought you were her."

"Her? Who's Venice?"

"Venice Brahms was a close friend of Batman. Not really Batman, but the man beneath the mask. He never told her he was Batman though. The two were in a relationship, but she disappeared two years ago. Nobody every found her." After he reveals this truth, it goes silent. I have nothing to say.

"I'm not her though," I say finally, my hands in my lap. "I don't know who I am."

"Don't worry, I can take you down to the station later and use your fingerprints. After that, it's smooth sailing, and you'll be home in no time. I'm sure your amnesia is only a temporary thing." His smile isn't as comforting as he hopes, the smile turning into a small frown.

"What would the insane man want with me though? I don't remember who I am, but it seemed like he did." The thought of going to him, however, isn't something I prefer to do.

"Well, that doesn't matter right now. We're here anyhow, and after dinner you could use some rest. First thing tomorrow I'll take you with me to the station." I nod in agreement. I can't help but wonder what the morning will bring.


End file.
